


curiouser and curiouser

by ozmissage



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Lost, Once Upon a Time (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Gen, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/pseuds/ozmissage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If he could put them all back together, make the magic realms spill into the non-magic ones, make every person behind every door believe--</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	curiouser and curiouser

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).



_“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?”_

_\--Lewis Carroll_

i.

There are so many doors, so many worlds—or maybe just the one world, fractured and shattered, each shard a piece of one great puzzle. If he could put them all back together, make the magic realms spill into the non-magic ones, make every person behind every door _believe_ \--

Jefferson touches the brim of his hat. Even then, he fears, it would not be enough.

ii.

Richard binds the stranger’s hands, pulls the ropes tight. The man laughs wildly, but he does not resist. There are too many unexpected guests dropping in these days. Once, Richard longed for people to come to the island, once he dreamed of being saved.

Now they are just another chore.

“How did you get here?” Richard asks and the stranger cocks his head.

“That’s an interesting place to begin. Most people, they would start with the who. Who are you.”

“Richard.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Richard smiles as he shoves the man to the floor. The ridiculous hat tumbles from his head and Richard catches a glimpse of panic in the man’s eyes, but he masks it well. Richard bends to pick it up, fingering the worn and dusty brim. It’s an outdated style. Even Richard knows that much, and he’s hardly an expert on the subject.

He looks up to find the man watching him carefully, the muscles in his jaws working. He’s trying to stay composed. Richard crouches down beside him.

“Who are you?”

The man smiles.

“Jefferson. My name is Jefferson.”

iii.

The latest recruit is nimble with a sword. He wears the black well, but his tongue is far too quick. It makes the other men dislike him, it makes him a target. He may be able to defeat them in training, but even he has to sleep.

“You could set Ghost on them,” Sam tells Jon as they watch Jefferson slash his way across the yard. There’s something showy about the display. He’ll wake with bruises upon the morrow.

“Jefferson can look after himself.”

The implication that Sam can not does not go unnoticed, but Sam also knows that it’s true. He’s grateful for what Jon did for him, more grateful than he’ll ever be able to say.

“Everyone needs a friend,” Sam continues. “The Wall’s no place to be lonely. He’s like to hurl himself off the top if things keep on as they are.”

Jon laughs softly and Sam feels a familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach.

“We’ll invite him to eat with us if you think it will keep him on the right side of The Wall.”

Sam nods, satisfied.

Across the yard, Jefferson is turning on his heels, his blade singing as it slices through the air. The sound mixes with Jefferson’s laughter and his opponent charges him, clearly offended.

Sam groans. “He’s going to get himself killed before dinner.”

Jon claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“You worry too much, Sam.”

iv.

Eliot’s fingers work at the clasp on Jefferson’s cloak as their lips crash together. The damned thing drops to the floor of the tavern and Eliot steps over it and shoves Jefferson against the nearest wall, never breaking their kiss.

It has only been three hours since he welcomed Jefferson to Fillory, performing his kingly duties such as they were. Drinks had been had (so many drinks, Eliot never bothers to count, but even for him this was excessive), stories exchanged. Ripping their clothes off in a public tavern, a hiccuping bear swaying drunkenly in his chair still on hand to serve as witness, seems like a logical enough trajectory. When the Mad Hatter wanders into your kingdom you fuck him. Even Quentin couldn’t disagree with that.

“Say it,” Eliot whispers against Jefferson’s ear. “Say it for me.”

Jefferson fists his hand in Eliot’s short hair and tugs.

“My life is not a story,” Jefferson hisses.

Eliot laughs, a hysterical, awful sound even to his own ears. Jefferson looks taken aback, but his touch merely softens. It doesn’t disappear. Maybe he understands. A hat can weigh as heavy on a head as a crown.

“Oh fine, I’ll say it for you,” Eliot slips a hand beneath the band of Jefferson’s pants and squeezes. He hears a thump behind them and knows without looking that it’s the great bear passing out in a pool of his own vomit. “We’re all mad here.”

Jefferson shakes his head, but his eyes are glazing over, his voice thick with want as he says, “That’s not even my line.”

v.

“It worked,” Emma whispers.

Jefferson tosses the hat against the wall. A stupid, useless thing.

“I’m right back where I began,” he says. “That’s not working, that’s failing.”

Emma wraps her fingers around his wrist and he looks down, surprised by the sudden contact. When he allows himself to meet her eyes, he finally sees it. Not doubt, not wavering, or contemplating-- _belief_ , pure and true.

“I think…I think this world could use some magic,” she says.

And for a moment Jefferson believes home might just be behind the next door.


End file.
